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breasts!
    I roll away, and as my shoulder hits the floor I see a pair of orange and lime green checkered Vans at the end of a pair of denim clad legs—the culprits responsible for my unladylike entrance. I scramble awkwardly to my feet, preparing to give the owner of those Vans a piece of my mind.
    “I am so sorry about that,” he stammers.
    The guy is a little older than me, maybe eighteen, with a head of moppy brown curls—the same color as his eyes, which I admit are rather striking.
    “Are you all right, Mira?” he asks.
    “I’m fine. Fine,” I say, twisting away from him. Then I stop and turn back. “Do I know you?”
    Three other patients witness our awkward collision: an old man wearing a U.S. Navy baseball cap, and two middle-aged women, one with blue hair and one without any hair at all.
    “This is really embarrassing,” the guy who tripped me says, lowering his eyes to the floor.
    “For who?” I ask quietly to avoid even more unwanted attention. “I’m the one who got groped in public.”
    For a second, he raises his gaze and looks at me like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Then, realization hits, and every drop of blood in his veins races to his cheeks.
    His words come quick. “I am so, so sorry. I was trying to break your fall. I didn’t mean to—I really am sorry.”
    “You said that.”
    “But I am!” He clears his throat—loudly. “I’m David.”
    Pausing, he waits for me to respond. He does look a little familiar, but I can’t place him.
    “David Valdez?” he adds hopefully. “I used to go to your school. Graduated last year.”
    A vague memory coalesces in my mind. I think he was a senior, though I only saw him at a distance from time to time. As a tenth grader last year I was too involved in my own world to pay much attention to the ‘untouchables’.
    “Yeah. I remember you.” I smile back to be polite then glance at my watch, certain Jordan’s outside looking at his too. I just want out of here, but the guy, David, stands between me and my escape.
    “Anyway, I’m really sorry about tripping you,” he adds, as the color begins to fade from his skin. “I shouldn’t have been on the floor.”
    “What were you doing on the floor?”
    “Looking for Charlie.”
    “Who’s Charlie?”
    Lifting his hand to eye level, something gray and glossy looks up at me and blinks. I let out a shriek and leap backwards. My legs collide with the coffee table, and once again I lose my war with gravity. Toppling over, I land butt first on the floor.
    When I open my eyes, I see the huge gray lizard perched on the guy’s arm peering at me from between my legs, which are sticking straight up like two Florida palm trees. And that guy—THAT GUY—stands over me with his hand out, presumably trying to help me up. Only he’s got this indecisive look in eyes, like he’d rather I didn’t take him up on the offer. He probably thinks with my grasp of balance I could take him and his lizard out.
    The others in the room steal furtive glances as I somehow manage to untangle myself. Ignoring David’s hand, I get to my feet for the second time in the last two minutes.
    David starts to apologize, but I hold up my hand to stop him. “It’s good,” I tell him. “It’s all good.” Then, without another word, I throw open the office door, step out into the hall, and shut it firmly behind me.
    So far this day is not going well.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    “Blue or red?”
    In one hand, Mama holds up a blue satin floor-length dress, a sleeveless number with a simple bow at the shoulder. In the other hand, she holds up a burgundy crushed velvet dress, knee length, form hugging, and strapless.
    “How about purple flannel?” I flop down on my bed, bunching my favorite PJs under my head for a pillow. “I don’t want to go to some stupid fundraiser.”
    “I don’t know,” Mama says, tilting her towel-turbaned head to one side. “I kind of like the blue. It brings out your